


A King's Queen

by spookypalace



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2014-11-19
Packaged: 2018-02-25 13:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2622818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookypalace/pseuds/spookypalace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silence. All he really wants is silence.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, silence is not an option. "You were born screaming and you will live your life with those sounds drumming inside of your ears,"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I thought it was about time we had a rellamy fic where Bellamy really was king, completely AU.

Silence. All he really wants is silence.

Unfortunately, silence is not an option. "You were born screaming and you will live your life with those sounds drumming inside of your ears," his father used to say in his rare moments of sanity and soberness when he wasn't surrounded by wine and music and whores.

A king is not entitled to silence because a king is saved from loneliness. Or buried in its salvation.

He was hungry for silence since early childhood, and he would have given up all of the gold entitled to his name for a minute of it. Maybe even a second would have been enough.

But instead of silence he got a crown and a title and more gold than he could have ever imagined. He got peoples respect, not just because of his name, but because of his generosity and gentle smile, but mostly because he was a completely different man than his father was, which initially made him a better king. He had put his fathers name in shadow, people said, and everyone after him will live in his shadow, trying to rise above but failing greatly.

"My Lord," Kane says gently, with best intentions at his heart, "You have to choose a wife. It's time. People love you, but they won't love a king forever if he lives in vice, not even a kind one."

Bellamy's forehead creases and he throws his palm over the length of his face to hide his annoyance. They've been through this topic many times in the past few months and it gotten them nowhere. Bellamy is stubborn and the members of the imperial council are persistent. They mean well but that doesn't mean their actions are righteous.

"Vice?" Octavia laughs hoarsely, "My brother barely looks at women, let alone touch them."

This is probably the first time that Octavia said anything topic wise during a court meeting. A grin appears on Bellamy's face as his sister makes that comment, but he hides it under his palm. He thinks about how Octavia should be sitting in his place right now. He is their parents eldest, the rightful heir, but she was a woman and that made her un eligible, not that she was fit for being queen, even less than their father was. Everyone knew it. She loves sex and wine as much as their father did, but Octavia is something their father wasn't - greedy and lazy. As much as he was bad at it, their father enjoyed being a king. Octavia loves the perks of being royalty, but she hates the responsibility. The kingdom would crumble under her hand. Bellamy is kind and generous and respectful, he is a ten times bigger man than his father was. Being a good man and being a good king are two completely different things even though Bellamy doesn't lack at the other department either. Even though he just turned 18 he's hardworking and responsible and smart. Was he happy when he found out he's going to be a king? Not at all, he wanted to be a knight. Did he accept the responsibility without complaining? Yes, mostly because of his mother. Because this was her kingdom, her legacy, but a queen can't rule the kingdom, the king can, so everything her father built fell into his fathers hands and he had almost ruined it.

"You're a true king, Bellamy," his mother used to say when he was a child, "Not because you carry your fathers name, but because you're my son."

And she died by his fathers side like she was equal to him, when in reality she was so above him that in comparison to her he looked like a bean planted deep in the infertile ground.

"All you have to do is pick out one of the lovely ladies from the royal rows, marry her, make her sit next to you quietly and make her give you children," one of the members of the imperial council said casually, "You don't even have to like her. You can enjoy other women."

Make her sit next to you quietly. If silence was guaranteed to him by marriage he would marry the first girl in his sight.

The members start bickering loudly, clearly their opinions parting on this topic. Bellamy removes the palm from his face and looks at the room full of grown men fighting over how he should lead his life. Octavia looks as amused as always, slowly sipping wine.

What did his mother used to say? "True kings words can be heard in silence as well as in the loud murmur of the crowd."

He decides to go around that, just this once.

"Enough!" he slams his fist against a wooden table and even Octavia jumps a little in her chair after her brothers action. He may be kind, but he's nowhere near patient, or fickle. He's not going to let a bunch of men braid his future like they own it.

If there's one thing he likes about being a king, it's freedom.

"I'm not going to marry just anyone," he says calmly to the ten pair of eyes watching him wakefully, "When I marry, I'm going to do it out of love, not out of need. And when I do, I'm not going to insult my wife, or myself, by sleeping around in the bed of other women."

Bellamy was a man of principles and they knew it. Sometimes they wished he wasn't.

This time, Kane gives himself the right to defile his king. "That's not how king is supposed to behave."

Octavia's eyes rest on Bellamy's calm face which twitches under Kane's words. Kane was their fathers friend, his loyal companion who thought their fathers word is a law even when it was against the law.

Bellamy chuckles lightly while slowly standing up. "And how is a king supposed to behave? Am I to spend all of the kingdoms treasury on pleasure? Am I to enter my wife's chambers only when there's no one else to keep my bed warm? Am I to be stranger to my children, or to become blind to my peoples hunger?" he keeps raising his voice after every sentence spoken while circling around the table in the middle of the room, "Am I supposed to behave like my father?"

Kane allows himself to raise his voice as well, knowing Bellamy won't do much about it. "You wouldn't be here if it weren't for your father. Your father was a king," he says with a great deal of respect.

"He was no king!" Bellamy replies angrily, "He was a lowlife who spent his life seeding his bastards around the kingdom who most likely died from hunger."

"He lived the law," Kane replies calmly knowing Bellamy doesn't have much love for their law, but respect it nevertheless.

Bellamy chuckles. "If something were to happen to me, one of his bastards would be next in line for the throne. What does your law think about that?"

Silence envelops the room and for a second Bellamy gets his wish, and curses himself for breaking it. "King is nothing without his queen. If it weren't for my mother there wouldn't be a kingdom anymore, and you know it."

No one says a word. Blissful silence swallows the room, and Bellamy revels in it, knowing it won't last long. The only sound are his steps on the cold concrete which soon get mixed with running steps from the hallway outside of the room. Someone knocks on the door, and Bellamy sighs in disappointment.

"Enter," he says loud enough for the person on the other side of the door to hear.

One of the soldiers comes into the room, his spear protruding from his fist, and he bows before the king.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but your presence is required, my lord," he speaks with his head still bowed, his eyes locked on the floor.

Even though there are apparently some more urgent things to be handled, which will probably cause a lot of wreck and take away the memory of silence, he feels relieved to escape the room.

"Very well," he responds after turning his attention to ten men sitting still by the square table, "This meeting is adjourned."

He urges the soldier to exit the room, and as he does Bellamy follows his step. As they move down the hall he can hear someones footsteps behind them.

"Bashing father in Kane's face," he hears his sister's voice behind his shoulder, "Naughty, naughty king," he can basically hear Octavia's smirk.

"His blind devotion is tiresome," Bellamy brushes his sisters comment off, "Is he ever going to get tired of defending a corpse?" she asks, even though he doesn't expect an answer to that question.

His intentions don't stop Octavia, though. "It's not the corpse he's defending, it's the time when his life held importance."

Bellamy looks at his sister, who is now no longer behind him, but standing next to him, shoulder to shoulder, with a curiosity in her eyes.

"Not so long ago he was kings right hand," Octavia explains, "Now not even his opinion is valued."

Bellamy ponders on it a little. "I don't need someone to be my right hand when both of mine are functioning."

Octavia smirks at her brothers words. "And if you did, everyone know it would be me."

Bellamy laughs out loudly at that. "You're as useful as a little finger, Octavia," he shakes his head.

"One of these days you're going to hurt my feelings."

"As if you have any."

"Nothing to worry about Octavia, you know none of the other members agree with Kane, they all hated our father as much as we have. Maybe even more, since after all, they knew him better."

"I know," Octavia nods, convinced in her brothers words, "I only question how much can you push Kane before he breaks."

Bellamy looks at her, but Octavia keeps looking straight ahead.

Both of them follow the soldier through the barely lit hallways. When they reach the door leading to the back yard, the soldier pushes them open and Bellamy notices bunch of his men with torches and spears in their hands standing in a circle, quietly, their eyes locked on something on the ground. He steps on the ground still damp from yesterdays rain and when men notice the king and his sister approaching them, they step aside, allowing them a clear view of what they have been staring at.

Bellamy enters the circle and Octavia follows him, mostly to satisfy her own curiosity. All the men bow down, but Bellamy mimics with his hand for them to stand straight up, so they do. They keep their eyes in level with Bellamy when he asks, "What seems to be the problem?"

Octavia nudges Bellamy on the shoulder when one of the soldiers speaks up. "Her," the chain in his hands rattles and Bellamy realizes the soldier in front of him had spoken. He follows the thick, rusty chain from the soldiers hand to the ground, where it's clasped around a girls neck.

Yard is surrounded by high walls with guards on the top of them, and the sky is dark. Very dark, as well as their surrounding. Cold wind is blowing, leftover from the storm which lasted for few days and ended yesterday. In all that darkness, even though there are few torches lit by soldiers, he almost hasn't seen the girl. Her hair is dark and damp. He wonders is it usually the color of a coal, or is it of this color because it's stained with mud and water. He finds it strange to be asking himself that question but he leaves it be. The color of this intruders hair is the least of his worries. Even though her head is lowered, probably due to the heaviness of the chain, he can see her face is stained with mud as well. She's dressed in rags, which are muddy and torn so he can see some of her skin which looks as muddy as the clothes itself. She looks like one of the beggars, which Bellamy is trying to clear the kingdom from. Give them a chance for a decent life, fresh start. Maybe it's a foolish thing to do, maybe their existence has a purpose, maybe they keep the balance.

"She ran into the gates," the soldier speaks again, "Yelling something about killing the king," he pulls the chain in his hand and the girl chokes a little. When he looses the chain, she clasps for air.

Bellamy stands still in front of his men, in front of the girl and his sister, trying to find the right words to say. His father used to receive dead threats which he disregarded. Which had cost him his life, as well as the life of his wife and their mother. People despised the king, it was only a matter of time until someone did anything about it. But Bellamy, Bellamy was loved. People in the kingdom loved him more than the men on the court. King is supposed to love his family more than his people and Bellamy did the opposite.

"What's your name?" Bellamy asks the girl.

Slowly, the girl raises her head, probably struggling under the weight of the chain wrapped around her neck. Her face is not only stained with mud, but with blood as well. It's splattered over her cheeks and Bellamy wonders is it her own. Her lip is cracked and a small stream of blood is pouring down it. Her eyes meet his and they are darker than the night itself. They radiate innocence, as well as fear and pain.

Until a smirk curves on her lips, and he thinks how it looks like she stole it from his sister and plastered it on her own face.

"Fuck you," she spits at him.

Octavia chuckles. A peasant girl disobeying the king, she likes her already.

The soldier tightens the chain around her neck and she starts choking again. He pulls her up on her feet which is when Bellamy notices her hands are tied behind her back with chains as well. It seems uncomfortable, and highly unneeded for a young girl to be restrained in a way they restrain wild dogs and grown men.

"Such a filthy mouth," the soldiers barks at her, releasing the chain once she's on her feet, allowing her lungs to get filled with air. To teach her a lesson he brings his hand in the air, ready to slap her across her face.

As his hand starts falling on her face, Bellamy stops it in the mid air, but notices that the girl hasn't even flinched. She was about to be hit by a man twice her size and she hasn't even flinched.

The soldier looks at him surprised as Bellamy's fingers wrap around the mans wrist. "If I see you hitting a woman one more time, I'll cut your fists off myself."

Confusion washes over the girls face, but it gets lost in a moment.

Bellamy lets go of the soldiers wrist, and the soldier nods in understanding. He releases the chain in his hand, and now when nothing is holding her, the girl falls back on her knees. The chain wrapped all over her body brings her down on the ground, staining her with more mud. She's too weak to stand, Bellamy concludes, when he notices her collar bones sticking out of her body more than they stick out on the other ladies.

Lady. Some people would frown upon him of thinking of this intruder as a lady.

He crouches before her, and some of the soldiers gasp. The king never crouches in front of anyone. The girl looks up, locking her eyes on his, and her look is deviant.

"What's your name?" Bellamy repeats his question one more time.

"What do you need my name for?" she asks slyly, "You're going to kill me, anyway. Do you really need to know who you're killing?"

Her words confuse him but he doesn't let her see it. He studies her for a moment, the conflicted look in her eyes, her bony body, her stained skin, still trying to figure out is the blood on her face her own.

"I want to see the king," she says determinedly, and for that he admires her, because she's making requests when she's in no place to make requests.

"What for?" he asks curious. Apparently, she doesn't know what the king looks like, if she did, she would have recognized him. Unless she's not asking for him. Unless she's asking for another king.

A sly smirk reappears on her face. "I hear he likes 'em young and fresh," she licks her bloody lips and once her tongue falls on the cut, she winces.

Octavia barks in laughter, "I worry you have been misinformed, sweetheart," he comments, but she never gets her attention. Her eye never leave Bellamy's.

He's playing me, she thinks to herself, kindness if the most powerful weapon and it cuts deep.

"The king is crouching in front of you," Octavia comments against her brothers wish.

The girl allows Bellamy to catch her confusion this time. "You can't be the king."

"I'm sorry to disappoint."

"You're a child."

Bellamy chuckles. "So are you."

"But I'm not running the kingdom."

"You seem to be on a mission," Bellamy knits his thick brows together, "Which is similar."

She studies him. The gentleness of his eyes, the slight curve of his lips, small dimples on the corners of his lips, where they meet his cheeks, his soft skin. "I never knew a king could be such a wimp."

The soldier growls but Bellamy hushes him by raising his look to him. When the man silences himself he looks back to the girl. He stands up.

"Up," he orders.

The soldier reaches for the chains but Bellamy stops him.

"She will do it on her own," he says, making her raise her look to him.

She keeps looking at him for few seconds, then raises one of her legs and buries her foot in the ground. She bounces of the ground and does the same with her second leg. The bones rattle in her knees, and they give her up, pulling her back to the ground.

But she never reaches the ground. Bellamy puts his hands around her shoulders and props her back up on her feet, giving her time to adjust to standing on her own. Her eyes never leave his.

Octavia gasps. "Why can't Kane be here for moments like this?" she whines. "It's one thing to feed the poor, but to hold them? You're a disappointment to your lineage, Bellamy, and you will never be a good king!" Octavia mimics Kane's voice, but something clenches in Bellamy's throat upon hearing those words.

When he's convinced the girl is stable enough to stand on her own he lets go of her shoulders.

"What should we do with her, my lord?" the soldier picks up the chains gently.

Bellamy stays silent for a while, holding the girls gaze.

"Should we get rid of her?" the other one asks, the edge of his spear shining under the moonlight.

She doesn't react to his words. He proposes death and she stands perfectly still. Why is that? Why doesn't she beg for her life?

"No," Bellamy shakes his head determined, "Take her to the dungeon," he orders his men.

They nod in understanding and take the girl away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably won't post an update everyday but I had already wrote this chapter and I had some spare time.

The sun never reaches his room, so he has no help with waking up, unless there's some urgent matter to take care off. He wakes up because he knows he has to.

When he was younger he thought that being a king meant he gets to sleep as long as he wants to, maybe even until it's time for lunch. At least that's what his father did. As he grew older he realised the only reason why his father slept for so long is because he was hungover every day in the week.

Bellamy usually woke up before anyone else, when sun was exchanging its place with the moon, while it was crossing the line between reality and imagination. He would climb on the high walls and greet the guards who were stuck with the night shift and watch his kingdom, as wide and as long as it was, while it was still empty, lifeless. Before men woke up to go to work and women to feed the children and the stock and before children ran out in the busy streets to find their entertainment of the day. He would hum, sometimes happily, sometimes worryingly, watching at the potential before him. So many things to fix, things his father had ruined without even trying. So many things to make better and so many of them demolish completely. New day, new chance, new hope.

This morning he woke up later than usual and he knew it because the sun was high on the sky, even though it was hidden behind the gray clouds. There's too much rain, as well as there's too much misery.

There's too much of everything except the things that would be welcomed in large amounts.

He knew he will have to skip breakfast in order not to spoil his stomach for lunch. That thought brought him back to early childhood, when Octavia and him would sneak into the kitchen and steal still hot cakes, right out of the oven, from the griddle. Phillipa's cakes, who was the main cook on the court since their mother was young, would always fill them up nicely and there would be no place left for lunch, which is when their mother would give them a warning eye, reminding them not to do it again and they would keep on wondering how in the God's name she knows what they did. "There's a reason why the dessert comes after a meal," their mother used to say, "End is usually more satisfying than anyone thinks."

He gets his clothes from the wardrobe, a dress shirt with dark leather sleeves and thin red silk in the middle where two fighting lions, their kingdoms symbol, are bound with golden thread. There are golden epaulettes on his shoulders. His leather pants are barely visible from the dress shirt, especially after he puts on high black boots. He puts his sword in its rightful place and leaves for the door.

He hates the idea of someone helping him get dressed, especially because his father enjoyed the privilege. He usually just needs help with his armor. If you can't trust your king to dress himself without anyone's help, how can you trust him to lead an entire kingdom?

He exits into an empty hallway and starts walking in the direction opposite of the rooms he usually frequents during the day.

"Up this late," he hears a well known voice coming from behind him. He turns around in a hurry and notices his sister leaning onto a wall next to the door of his room. She's wearing her usual smirk, one that says either her limbs or her mind is up to no good, and for a millionth time in his life Bellamy wonders was Octavia born with that smirk. "For a moment there I thought you have a girl in there with you," her smirk broads on her face. Octavia is wearing one of her favourite dresses, a pale green one that puffs out at her hips, she says it shows off her best features.

Bellamy laughs on his sisters comment. "If there was a girl with me in my bedroom," he tries to keep up with his sister, but the words escape his throat rather shyly, "You would have known."

He turns to leave before Octavia can see his flushed face.

Octavia barks a laugh. Bellamy can hear his sisters footsteps closing on him, when Octavia slaps him on the back with an open palm and says through a giggle, "There's no doubt, brother," and Bellamy can't figure out if her voice is encouraging or mocking. "But you do realize you're walking in a wrong way?" he knits his brow together.

Bellamy hums amused. "Wrong, sister," he shakes his head, carving a grin on her lips, "I'm exactly where I want to be."

"And where is that?" Octavia asks curiously, like they're playing some sort of a game. Like when they were children.

"On my way to see our mystery girl, of course."

"Oh, so you can flirt with her some more?"

Upon hearing her comment Bellamy stops walking and Octavia almost bumps into him with her shoulder. There's a confused expression on Bellamy's face as Octavia watches him carefully, searching for any signs of confirmation.

"What in the Gods name are you talking about?" Bellamy asks him, completely composed.

"You're smitten by her, in some weird way," Octavia comments, waiting for Bellamy's face to twitch and give him up, "You couldn't keep your eyes off of her last night."

Bellamy tries his best not to show Octavia that she is right, his eyes were glued to the girl the entire time, but not for the reasons his sister might think. She's a.. mystery.

Octavia enjoys men (sometimes women) and wine, Bellamy enjoys feeling helpful and solving mysteries.

"She doesn't seem to mind," Octavia continues, "Her eyes were on you all the time as well."

"She was looking for a place in my body to stick a sword in," Bellamy comments, not allowing himself further thoughts about this girl, this strangers, this nameless creature his men locked in the dungeon, "I have no romantic notions of her, either."

Octavia pulls another smirk across her face, the skin in the corner of her cheeks ripping a little, "She's not a girl you fall in love with. But there really is no difference between a whore and the girl you find in front of your door when it comes to having a company in the bedroom."

Bellamy looks at her with disgust. For a moment he can't believe her words, her proposition, until he remembers - it's Octavia. Of course she would propose something similar. To her that's all she is, a piece of meat she gets to use as she pleases because she's lower than her on society's pyramid of importance.

To Bellamy she's so much more. There's a labyrinth on her skin drawn with the invisible ink, her flesh holds unspoken words, her mind is a hidden box and even though he's not interested in her heart he's sure it hides secrets of its own.

He doesn't want her in his bed, he wants inside of her mind.

Belly shakes his head at his sisters words. "The last thing this girl expects is kindness," he narrows his eyes at Octavia, "So that's exactly what I'm going to give her."

Octavia stays quiet for a moment and Bellamy takes it as his chance to leave. He turns from his sister and starts walking in the direction opposite of her.

"It makes sense for a kind king to use kindness as his weapon," Octavia shouts after him, "But don't forget brother, kindness is a double egged sword."

She feels the damp ground under herself with the tips of her fingers. They fall into the muddy ground like they would fall through clouds - easy and gently. But unlike with clouds she doesn't reach the other side, the ground starts closing under her fingers, clasping them. She pulls them out and wraps them in her rags.

It's dark, she can't see anything. From time to time she hears whispers and scratches but she's too afraid to call to see if she's alone down there or does she have company. She's not sure she even wants to know.

She fell before the gates and the guards made her crouch in mud and now she can't feel even an inch of her skin which isn't covered with mud. Some of it is fresh so it peels off easily, but some of it has been there for such a long time she's not sure it can get off. It's part of her as much as her skin is. She didn't have a bath in such a long time, seems like forever.

She tries to pull her torn rags down her thighs to hide their exposure, to hide the bruises and the scars which she's not sure are even visible under all the mud, but if he ever comes down here she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how broken she truly is.

She can still feel his eyes on her. On her face, on her breasts, on her legs, and no one has ever looked at her like that. With so little disgust. He didn't look at her like he wants the thing all men want, he didn't even look at her like he pities her, he looked at her like..

..like he wants to unravel her.

And his look scared her even though it was pleasant.

She wants to wash his look off of her more than anything but there's no water and no soap and there's never anything she needs because she lost it because they took it because it doesn't matter because no matter how you turn it it's gone.

The tips of her fingers touch her hair and she can feel how wet it is how muddy it is and there are tears in her eyes because it's been years since her mothers fingers were in her hair, braiding it in the yard, under the apple tree in early Fall.

She's so cold, so, so, so cold, but at the same time so happy because it has been so long since she's been inside of someones home, but in the same time she wants to die.

She can't die yet, though, there are things she has to take care of first. And when she does she will grow wings and fly up in the sky and never look down again, never look down at the filth and disappointment and despair and loss and nothingness. She will be lost in the richness of her thoughts and her wishes coming true.

She sees a flicker of light in the darkness, far, far away, but it's getting closer and the thud of footsteps on the ground is getting louder.

She comes out of her corner, closer to the bars, and sees three pairs of legs coming her way. When the light falls on her face she goes back to her corner in the darkness, trying to hide her bare skin until she tears the little rags she has on her body. They fall on the ground and she gasps when she notices her legs are bare, completely bare, and she whimpers in shame.

They stop in front of her cage, her prison. She can see his deep brown eyes in the darkness, searching for her. After some time he exhales and tells the guards to leave. They look at him confused but listen nevertheless. They put one of the torches on its appointed place in the wall and turn to leave.

He had come to seen her. Why? To watch her cry, to see her beg, to point and laugh? She won't do either of those things, and if he points and laughs there's not much she can do about it but endure.

He moves to the wall opposite of her cage and sits down on the ground. He puts his knees in the air, bringing his legs closer to his body.

She watches him closely, trying to see the true intention behind his action. But he just slumps his arms over his knees and stares in her direction, watching like he can see her even though she knows he can't see anything but darkness.

"What's your name?" he asks after few minutes of sitting in silence.

He knows she's there, there's nowhere else she could have went.

She doesn't respond for quite some time, and when she does she says, "Where's the king?"

He exhales tiredly even though she's sure he had a good night sleep in his chambers, in his huge bed with silky sheets and big cotton pillows and covers made out of wool. He rubs his creased forehead and responds, "Haven't we already established I'm the king?" he doesn't sound too happy about it, she notices.

"You can't be him," she gets on her knees, putting her palms on the ground, "The king is old," not young, "He has black, evil eyes," not beautiful brown ones, "He has a crooked nose and a gray beard," not smooth, beautiful face, "He's fat and short," not lean and tall.

She crawls over to the bars and sits next to them, leaning her head onto the wall. She's so hungry and so thirsty and so tired and there's no escape from all of those things.

"Ah," he says, "You're referring to my father."

Yes, of course, she thinks, his father.

"Yes," she nods, her forehead scraping against the wall, "I want to see your father."

"I'm afraid that's not possible," he brushes her off quickly, "Since he's dead."

"What?" No, no, no, she was supposed to kill him. She was supposed to put a sword through his heart, twirl the blade in his flesh and watch him bleed before her eyes.

"For over a year now," he says with no emotion in his voice. "Now," he comes closer to the bars, sitting right across from her, "Will you tell me why you wanted to kill him?"

"Why would I?" she keeps looking at the ground, disappointed by this fact. She's been waiting for so long, preparing, gathering the courage. How could have she not known that the king is dead? Stupid, stupid child. "Where's the point in it now, if he's already dead?"

"Why won't you tell me your name, then?" he asks gently.

"Why do you need my name?"

"So I can take you home," he responds.

She manages enough strength to laugh out loud. "There's no home," she raises her look to his face only to catch him already looking at her.

He's staring at her eyes in the darkness of her surrounding and the darkness of her skin and he looks like he wants to drown in them, in her ordinary, brown, tired eyes.

"There hasn't been home for a while now," she swallows those words, but he manages to catch them nevertheless.

"Then let me help you."

She laughs again. "How can you possibly help me?" she finds it amusing. She would like to see him try.

"My father..," he says, but decides to take the conversation in the other direction, "I've been trying to fix things, out there. I've been trying to make the world a better place," his voice is warm and all of a sudden she doesn't feel so cold anymore.

But she laughs at his words, and she doesn't stop laughing for a while until her voice becomes silent, barely audible, and her laugh hurts him because she's laughing at his actions, because she doesn't believe in them, and neither does she believe in his words.

"You can't fix things," she says, "And you can't make the world a better place. You can help few people, in your position maybe even hundreds, but someone will always be left out. And that one person will breed rage and misery and from their madness new madness will be born and it will spread like a plague and the world will never be a better place because one person can't fix all of the damage one person can create, let alone thousands of them."

After her words he stays silent and his eyes fall on the ground. She closes her eyes while her head is still pressing onto a wall and some time passes before he speaks again, "What happened to your dress?" he asks.

She covers her thighs with her hands and raises her eyes to his and says the only words she can find, "Didn't your mother tell you it's impolite to stare?"

He keeps looking at her and she can see his lips trembling, his eyes hungry, devouring her and she's afraid, she's afraid he actually will do something similar like take pleasure in her cries and for some reason she doesn't want him to hurt her and she doesn't know why.

She's not afraid of death.

"Will you tell me your name?" he asks once again.

"If I do, the mystery will be gone."

Her words paint a smile on his face and it's so bright and so beautiful and

so

so

so

so

breathtaking

like a butterfly clapping its wings in front of your eyes

and his smile makes the corners of her lips go upwards.

"Guards," he yells, and the smile from his face disappears and his eyes are unreadable.

"Are you going to kill me?" she asks silently, there's fear in her voice and maybe death is not as welcome as she thought it is, and maybe, just maybe she wants to live.

He stays silent and gets on his feet and when the guards come he whispers something to one of them. They unlock her cage and get her on her feet and as they drag her out of her cage he's avoiding her look and she closes her eyes, allowing herself to slip away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter !! I'm so into this that it has become a lot easier to write than usual :D

I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't I don't I don't, she thinks as they drag her down the hallway, away from her cage, away from the king with gentle eyes and warm voice. This new realization hits her hard, it comes out of nowhere, it jumps on her and abuses all of her senses, it abuses her mind because it's unexpected, unknown and she doesn't know how to deal with it. What is there to live for? She never lived at all. Her life ended four years ago when all of the plans for her future were caught in flames, when she was forced to run, to hide, to plan, to wait, to feel anger and hunger for revenge grow inside of her more and more with each passing year. Her life is nothing more but a carefully and slowly developed plan for revenge and now when it's gone what more is there? She was supposed to greet death but now when it's staring her in the face she's trying to look away. I want to live.

She closes her eyes and notices a pair of brown eyes watching her from the other side of her closed eyelids. He's watching her with his warm look, with his beautiful eyes, so beautiful it's almost hard to look at them, they're violating her with its beauty and intensity and she doesn't understand why is he there, why is he in her most private thoughts, looking from inside out, from her perspective, and why did she let him.

When she realizes she can't do it anymore, she opens her eyes only to notice they're not pulling her towards death, but in the completely other direction. They're not leading her towards the yard, in the outside world, they're not going to throw her out in the rain, on the easy, damp ground and cut her head off, they're pulling her deeper into the building. She knows because the hallways are decorated and she can hear the murmur of people coming from inside of the closed doors and this is not the way she came through last night when they were leading her towards the dungeon.

She inhales a fistful of air. The air here is fresh, not stale like it is in the city. She wonders is this why people like living on the court so much, because the air is fresh and nice and you enjoy breathing unlike in the city where you think you're going to die with every inhale of air. When she inhales her lungs tickle for more. So she gives them what they're asking for, she's breathing fast and hard, gathering air like a hungry child.

Finally they stop in front of a room and one guard yanks the door open violently and the other pushes her inside with an equal force. They're clearly unhappy with the task their lord has given them.

She nearly falls on the floor. She can feel cold tiles under her feet and it takes her only a moment to realize she's in a bathroom. A luxurious bathroom with bronze tiles and golden sink and golden tub even the lightning in the room seams golden and her eyes wander all over the room until they fall on two women sitting on a red couch without the support.

One of them stands up and smiles before saying, "Welcome," she's dressed in nice clothes, rich fabric, probably cotton, but she's not royalty. She's a maid, a helper on the court. The other one is dressed the same but she doesn't stand up, only politely nods.

She doesn't understand what's going on, she just looks at them, half startled, half curious, and she can feel tears tugging on her eyes because the feeling is back - the feeling of not knowing what will happen next. For such a long time she had a plan to follow through and now she's back to being a scared little girl with nowhere to go, just four years older.

The woman standing up notices the fearful look in her eyes and says, "Our lord told us everything about your arrival," she explains.

Funny, because he told nothing of it to me, she thinks but doesn't say anything.

"I'm still not sure what I'm doing here," she says weakly, her throat begging for some water because the words barely claw their way out of her throat.

"Silly girl," the woman that was sitting stands up and she notices she is slightly older than the other one. There are wrinkles on her face, and her hands have bruises on them, and she doesn't smile like the other one does. "We're in a bathroom," she gestures around herself, "You're here to have a bath."

"Please miss," the younger one says with a pleading voice, "Our lord gave us clear instructions," she says those words but they do not carry fear. She doesn't fear of being punished if she doesn't get the task done. She says those words with respect, like she will look down on herself if she lets her lord down. "Let us take your clothes and give you a bath. Let us do our job," her voice is warm, motherly and she never takes a smile off of her face.

The woman is so kind to her, no one but her mother has ever been so kind to her, and she doesn't want to be a nuisance, she doesn't want to cause problems, so she nods, agreeing to let them do their job.

They take her clothes off of her even though she's half naked. The older woman wrinkles her nose at her rags as she throws them on the floor. They're dirty and smell unpleasantly but she has gotten used to the smell and the feeling of them on her body. She wonders what will happen to them and she's not even sure why is she so sorry to see them go. The younger one fills the tub with water and they guide her inside of the golden tub. When her skin comes in contact with water she sighs in relief, sinking herself deeper into that heavenly nectar, enjoying the mix of hot and cold on her skin and it feels so inexplicable. After only few seconds the water becomes brown and the older woman wrinkles her nose again and the younger one giggles and they pull the cork out so that the dirty water can go away and so that the fresh one can take its place. They use soap, so much soap, a bucket full of soap and it smells like lavender and their hands smell like lavender and she smells like lavender and soon enough the whole room is engulfed in the scent of lavender. They use sponges and cloths to clean the dirt off of her skin and it takes them literally hours to do so. She can feel the younger woman's fingertips on the top of her head, on her scalp, in her hair, cleaning it, massaging it, her fingers feel so heavenly, they go into her head and her brain turns into mush.

They replace old water with the new one couple of times until she's clean. She's so clean so perfectly clean and she can see her skin, her bruised, scratched pale skin and she smiles at the sight of it. They wrap her into towels, her body and her hair, and they try to dry her long, brown hair. And while they're doing so she wonders because she doesn't understand why is this boy, this man, this king with beautiful pair of eyes so kind of her and why is he a constant resident of her thoughts and since when did her build himself a home on her mind?

They clean her nicely and everything still smells of lavender and she preys nothing ever stops smelling of lavender and they dress her in robes and brush her hair.

"We will escort you to your room now, miss," the younger one tells her, "If you promise you will behave we won't call the guards, but oh miss, you have to promise!" she tells her.

She's so kind, so very kind, and she doesn't want to put her in an awkward situation so she promises that she will behave.

"They can be awfully rough," younger one comments and the older one huffs, "You know how men are!"

Unfortunately, she does.

They escort her to her room which is across the bathroom, slightly to the left. It is large, maybe even larger than the house she grew up in. There's a large bed in the middle of the room, with canopy and silky covers and big, fluffy pillows. There are two couches with no support and pillows on them and there are chairs covered in gold as well as tables with fruit on them. She can feel apple juice running down her throat and she licks her lower lip. The crack on it stings when the tip of her tongue comes in contact with it. There's a writing table in the corner of the room, with a stack of papers and a feather stuck in a bottle of ink. There's a wardrobe only few feet away from the table. The glass door to the balcony is what catches her attention.

"We left some clothes for you on the chair," the older woman points to the chair.

"We will leave you now," the younger one continues, a smile still plastered to her face, "The lord will come to see you soon, as soon as we inform him that you are ready."

And they're both out of the door.

She walks over to the chair and takes a dress in her hands. It's so beautiful, so pleasantly beautiful. Red with golden flowers embodied on it. It feels so light between her fingers and she wonders what happened to her rags. She never wore a dress like this. Only ladies wear dresses like those. She puts it back on the chair and sits on the couch across of it.

She feels uncomfortable. She feels out of place.

There's a knock on the door.

One knock.

Two knocks.

Three knocks.

She doesn't answer so he allows himself enough freedom to enter the room without an invitation. She doesn't protest, it's his room after all. Everything here is his. Does that make her his as well?

She stands up.

"Oh," he gasps, "You're not dressed yet," he notices, "I can come back when you are."

"I'm not sure I ever will be," she responds.

He crinkles his nose. "Is there something wrong with the dress?" he narrows his eyes.

"No.." I'm the problem, she wants to say, "It's just - " she doesn't know how to express herself. It's just too much. I'm not your property. You don't have to dress me in pretty clothes because I'm not going to dance at the sound of your music.

He thinks he understands. "I see," is all he says, "How did you enjoy your bath?"

She says nothing. It was refreshing, thank you, is what she wants to say, but the words never find their way out of her mouth.

He lowers his head and smiles an amused smile.

"Why did you bring me here?" she asks curiously and he doesn't know how to explain, "Did you bring me here to be your whore?" is the only thing which pops into her mind.

He raises his eyes and there's a disgusted look in them. It hurts.

"Because I would rather die than sleep in your bed," she decides to hurt him back. There's nothing to lose.

He swallows. "Do I disgust you that much?" he asks out of curiosity.

"More than you can imagine," she lies. She's angry. She's confused. She's disappointed.

He nods thoughtfully and she regrets her words. Something gets stuck inside of her throat.

"I'm not interested in your body," he states firmly, his voice emotionless. She misses the warmth. She's the one who took it away.

"Then what are you interested in?"

A wicked smile appears on his face. Like someone took all of the brightest colors and splashed it across his face, leaving nothing but sheer light that hurts your eyes.

"Why? Why did you want to kill my father?" he asks, his curiosity stronger than him.

"All this trouble to get an answer to one question?" she doubts him.

"Not exactly," he shakes his head, not expecting her to understand. He's not sure he understands.

There's something in this girls eyes, something so beautiful and locked and unexplored that he can't help but wonder what hides under the surface. If the outside is so captivating, how the inside must look like.

She watches him half curious, half confused, but neither of them makes a move, neither of them says anything, they just stare at each other in silence until it becomes uncomfortable.

"I want answers," he breaks the silence that settled between them, "To that question and many more. I want your fears and your secrets, your thoughts and your questions," she blinks too many times in a minute, "I want to know what's going on inside."

She stays quiet for a moment, and when she speaks her voice is silent, like a whisper, and hoarse so hoarse he thinks it pains her to speak. "Is that all I am?" she asks regretfully, "A toy for you to play with?"

No, no, no, that's not what he meant at all.

"Someone to entertain you in your hours of boredom with stories about unhappy life, sad beginning and what looks like an even sadder ending?" she mentally slaps herself for hoping, for thinking she could be something more something different something special, her mind is a tornado of swears only she can hear, only hurting her insides, "You want to feast on my thoughts like an animal on an open wound?"

Hope is a powerful weapon and it often backfires so she puts it in her imaginary pocket for other occasion.

She was so stupid, so stupid to think..

..she doesn't know what she thought. What she wanted. What she hoped for. She doesn't want to be here but she has nowhere else to go.

"No," he shakes his head wildly, "That's not - " that's not what I meant, is what he wants to say.

But he doesn't know what he meant. What he wants from her, from himself, from anybody.

Silence envelopes them and they become prisoners of time which doesn't move, only endures.

"Your face," he says after quite some time, "There are scars on it," he notices, "What happened?"

She hoped she hoped she hoped he wouldn't notice them, or that he wouldn't ask even if he does notice them. She was so silly to think he would notice the difference in her appearance, to notice there's no more dirt or blood on her body or that her hair is long and wavy, to compliment her non existent beauty and to become blind to her tanned skin or the fact she's poor and alone and bitter, to become blind to her scars and bruises and all of the little reminders how cruel life is, how it pushed her back and forth, up and down.

Her thoughts are a cosmic joke, they laugh at themselves, at her silliness to even have enough courage to think them, they laugh inside of her mind and her insides tremble when his warm look finds a way to envelop her skin and soon enough she's encapsulated in his pupil and she's his his his but he doesn't want her and she's not sure she wants herself either.

"You happened," she says bitterly, touching the little red lines on her cheeks, crack on her lips and the open wound above her eyebrow. He chokes on her words and his look becomes confused and he's petrified that somehow he had hurt her that she thinks he had hurt her because he would never ever ever do that. She notices the look on his face and bites the healthy side of her lip, feeling guilty for her words, so she corrects herself, "Your guards are not the most gentle creatures," she tries to be polite as he is, "None of the men are," her heart pumps too much blood and she shifts her look away from him before saying, "Most men are animals."

No, they're not, he thinks to himself, let me prove it to you let me show you let me whisper it to you let me show you the world let me grab onto the stars and take you to the moon let me kiss you and hug you and do all of the things I should not even be thinking of.

He never says those words because she's a girl they found in front of his door and he's the king and the world is not there yet to accept that. It has to take million and million more spins until it's ready.

"To understand my mind," she says absently, "You first have to understand my heart," she raises her look to him, locking her big, shimmering eyes on his, "And that's the part of me you will never have access too."

He crumbles on the carpet and he doesn't know why.

"Very well," he tries to stay composed because he's the king and it's his duty and he should kill her or punish her or make her leave but he can't he can't he can't so he says, "I'll leave you to get dressed. I'll send someone to bring you some food."

When he turns to leave her lips part and she says, "Raven," so silently like it's a secret.

He turns on his heel to face her. "Excuse me?"

"My name is Raven," she says because he was so generous and she feels like she has to repay him somehow and the only way she can think of is by giving him something he wants, a piece of her, exposing herself, making herself to be a little bit less of a secret.

"Raven," he says her name. 5 letters claw up his throat, tickle his tongue until he parts his lips and they fall out of his mouth on a waterfall in the form of music notes and she realizes her name never sounded so delicious until now. No one has ever said her name like that, with so much expectations and sweetness like her name can do great things be great things like it can conquer the world.

"Does a lady have a last name?" he asks eagerly.

She blushes slightly. "Please, I'm no lady," she whispers, slightly honored he would give her such a title, especially after he had seen her skin painted with mud and blood and covered with rags older than both of them are, "I do, I do have a last name," a smile attacks her lips, pulling the corners of them up, "But you will have to work for it," she says playfully, with a tone she didn't even know she possesses, didn't even know has enough strength to use.

He smiles right back at her, and out of curiosity she asks, "Can I have your name?"

"My name?" he asks surprised because no one calls him by his name anymore, he's either king or lord or brother, come to think of it Octavia has never called him by his name, it was always little brother.

The skin on her face becomes slightly pale because she worries she had stepped over the line.

"Bellamy," he responds.

Bellamy, his name possesses her thoughts and soon enough every one of them begins and ends with his name, some of them consist solemnly of his name, and he is everywhere under her feet, on her skin, she can feel him on her fingertips in the air, there's so much privacy in ones name and her heart melts and falls down her body, in her heels and toes when she parts her lips and whispers his name. "Bellamy," she nods.

He smiles again, clearly satisfied by the path this conversation took and now he's ready to leave and she, help her god, she doesn't want him to.

His fingers fall on the knob and before he opens the door he turns his head slightly, not enough to make eye contact but enough to see her with the corner of his eyes and says, "You look absolutely beautiful."

And he's gone.

And she's glad.

Because her face flushes and she never knew blush can actually burn ones skin.

He goes to his room and slumps himself over the chair, pulling his fingers all the way through his hair.

His head is swarming with thoughts and they are incoherent and overlap each other and her name is jumping up and down his brain alongside adjectives to describe her but they're never enough, never good enough to truly describe her and he worries he will never find the words to do it, to put her existence on paper, to let words linger in the thin air and it saddens him that humanity never thought there could ever be something so important so they never bothered with thinking of words to describe it.

Her skin is clear and her hair is clean and she's beautiful and she was almost naked in front of him and he wanted to melt into her being. There are bruises and scars on her skin, all over her body but he did not want to mention them, he did not want to admit that he was looking, so he only commented on the visible ones.

She's like a doll made out of porcelain, her skin pale and cracked under the weight of time, her hair long and wavy and shiny and her eyes big and magical and there's something behind them, a whole other world and he wants in it, he wants to escape from here, he wants her and he wants to be her and he wants her to be his.

Everything smells like lavender and he turns into a bar of soap and start building himself a home on her skin. He tickles her with bubbles and makes her relax with his lovely scent and she's so beautiful and so naked and so smooth and his fingertips are too rough for her.

Raven.

Like a goddess. Like the sun. She's too bright for his darkness and his eyes hurt but he can't stop looking at her.

She's made out of secrets and unanswered questions and playful looks and beauty she's not even aware she possesses and he wants to show her, he wants to be a mirror, he wants to be an open book or a painting, he wants her to know how impeccable she is.

He wants her to give him his breath back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently writing a TVD story and this one and I only just realised I've been getting the names mixed up !! So if you spot any please tell me, I've tried to get rid of as many as I could but I might have missed a few

He exits his room and heads for breakfast when one of the guards informs him his brother has been looking for him. So instead of joining everyone at the dining hall for a Sunday breakfast he heads to his sisters chambers. He knocks three times out of courtesy before he hears Octavia's voice to come in.

Shes's lying on her unmade bed, still in her sleeping attire, and there's a naked boy next to her. One of the whores, probably, even though Bellamy hated calling them like that, but there was no other word for those men and women, and he wasn't creative enough to come up with one.

Octavia dismisses him from his duties, the boy that can't be more than twenty years old, with big green eyes and blond locks bouncing on his head, so he gets up from the bed, takes his flimsy dress shirt that looks more like a silky robe than a shirt and greets Bellamy with my lord after she throws the dress shirt over his shoulders.

Octavia is luck, Bellamy thinks - being able to do what and who ever she pleases. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy woman like every other man on the court did, he couldn't, because they didn't have that spark in their eyes which screams love or the gentle touch which shows utter affection.

He couldn't hold a piece of their soul on the palm of his hand because they didn't have any, at least not for him, at least not for men who were considered their job. Maybe those women had someone with whom they were able to share that connection he desperately wanted and maybe those women didn't have a choice when it comes to pleasing others. So the least he could do was let them go of their duties in his case, making both of them a favor.

He remembers his fifteenth birthday when his father sent him a whore to finally become a man and he wouldn't he couldn't he didn't want to because she wasn't someone in whose eyes he could see future. There was fear in her eyes that she will be punished for disappointing the kings son, but after he explained it to her she agreed to keep his secret if he's going to keep hers.

Bellamy politely nods at the boy before he opens the door of Octavia's bedroom and slips into the hallway.

"You wanted to see me?" Bellamy asks his sister once they're left alone.

Octavia pulls herself in a sitting position before she jumps off of the bed.

"Oh, yes," she takes one grape between her fingers and plops it into her mouth, "I've heard what you did."

Bellamy knits his brows together. "What I did?" he asks confused and Octavia nods, "Care to share?"

"Oh, come on," Octavia waves him off casually, "The girl, I know she's in one of these rooms, everyone is talking about it."

"I never meant to keep it a secret," Bellamy brushes him off with equal measure.

Octavia snorts. "And why is she here?" She rolls her eyes before launching back on the bed.

"Because she has nowhere else to go."

Octavia watches him for few moments before answering, "There are a lot of people with nowhere to go. Are we going to store all of them here?"

Her brothers silence is an answer good enough for her.

"Then tell me, what's so different about this girl?"

More silence. He doesn't have an answer for himself, let alone anyone else.

"She was already here."

"What do you want from her?"

"Nothing!" Bellamy furrows his brows, aggravated by his sisters questions, "Maybe I just want to help her."

"Do you want her in your bed?"

"No!"

Octavia stares at him, "Wrong answer, little brother," she shakes her head.

Bellamy glares back at her, speechless, not knowing what Octavia wants him to say but at the same time knowing exactly what she wants him to say.

"Don't fall in love with her, Bell."

"I wasn't planning to," he responds, angry Octavia would even bring up such a thing.

"Yeah," Octavia stays silent, locking his eyes with Bellamy's, "I think that's the problem."

He had found himself begging for silence again. King shouldn't beg for anything, he should be able to get it before he thinks he wants it. But Bellamy knew not even his position can buy him what he craved for years. For his whole life.

Money can't buy silence, which is quite ironic, since it can buy the truth, it can buy people's voices and opinions. Maybe it can't change them or even shape them, but it can influence them. Money can't buy silence in the sense in which he needs it.

His voice usually only makes the noise grow louder, which portrays the power his position holds. It can't make people quiet, but it can make them speak louder. Sometimes it was useful, but mostly it was tragic.

"I think it's completely and utterly ridiculous," Finn voices his opinion.

The news about Raven staying on the court with them had spread in a matter of hours. When he woke up the next morning everyone knew about it, and not everyone were so welcoming of the news even though all of them knew there's nothing they could do.

Finn was one of the rare relatives from his father side that he had liked. They basically grew up together since he had lost both of his parents at a really young age and the king was the closest family he was left with. Most of the times he was nice and pleasant to be around, he was very nice to look at - Bellamy had heard Octavia say once, with his silky dark hair and deep eyes which he and Octavia shared. The two even held the same look behind those eyes. Maybe it was something to bind them into a family, something other than blood, while he and Bellamy shared none of the similarities in their looks. But he also had a sly smile on his lips which only his fathers side of the family possessed, smile so poisonous that it could kill you if you kept staring at it.

Finn also paid high respects to royalty and their rules so he and Bellamy rarely saw eye to eye. As children, while playing, they didn't need to, even though it was obvious he was always more keen to his sister than him.

"Oh, it might be fun," Anya announces enthusiastically, "It's been so long since we had anyone new on the court," she claps with her palms like a child.

Anya was absolutely beautiful, so beautiful she's almost hard to look at, but at the same time she's luring you in with her more than pleasant looks. Anya is his mothers sisters daughter and she's here for a visit. A long one from the looks of it. Her mother thought it would be good for her to spend some time on the court, maybe it could make her more serious, push her to grow up once she sees how other ladies act. But no matter who Anya is surrounded with, nothing can stop her playful nature and childlike manners.

Bellamy smiles at her and her excitement even though he knows Raven would be like a new toy for her to play with if she got an access to her. Anya smiles widely at him, her red cheeks adapting more blush so her skin seems like it's on fire, her bronzed skin. Her big, heavy curls jump over her shoulder as she jumps a little on her chair happily, satisfied Bellamy has greeted her with a smile, like he has ever done anything else.

"Well I for one can't wait to meet her," Clarke says silently, knowing her opinion doesn't mean much to anyone but Bellamy, so when she voices it she dares to do it only through a whisper.

Clarke and Bellamy are best friends since childhood. She grew up in the first house next to the court, and her father was the head guard of the king. His father never approved of him being so close to a girl, let alone having her as a best friend, but he never said anything publicly because Clarke's father was more than his guard, he was one of his close friends, and strangely he respected that friendship. Clarke was also very pretty, with sky blue eyes and hair blond like one of those flowers in the early spring which he could see from the balcony of the court. Maybe if he didn't know her for so long, maybe he could marry her then, and if she didn't know him for so long maybe she would agreed to do so. But there's nothing but friendship between them even though his mother often said that's the best base for marriage. His mother was very fond of Clarke, maybe because she always secretly wanted a daughter of her own.

Clarke's mother died giving birth to her second daughter and her father died the same day Bellamy's parents did, at the same place, trying to defend them. So Bellamy had let Clarke and her little sister move in with him because that's the least he could have done, even though he did it for selfish reasons as well - he wanted his best friend closer to him at all times. Being left alone Clarke accepted the generous offer.

Bellamy gives her a smile for support and she smiles back which makes Finn roll his eyes privately, even though Bellamy caught him every time. He creases his forehead at his gesture.

The girls and Finn go back to discussing the matter over Sunday breakfast, and Bellamy stays silent because he's only going to get silence if he gives it to himself.

"My lord!" he hears a well known voice calling for him as he walks down the hallway towards his chambers.

He excused himself and let the ladies and Finn chat among themselves, hoping he will catch a moment of peace and quiet. No such luck, apparently.

"Miss Griffin," he says her name even before he turns around, "I already told you there's no need to call me like that."

They have been friends since forever, and in private they always allowed themselves to call each other by their first name. It felt forbidden, but also intimate, like something friends are supposed to do.

A smirk appears on her face, similar to Octavia's, but yet, not enough evil to resemble Finn's.

"But I like it!" she laces her arm with his, "It sounds lovely," she smiles gently at him, removing the teasing smirk off of her face.

"Very well then," he replies, smiling back at her.

"I meant what I said, you know?" she says casually as they start walking down the hall in an unknown direction.

"Oh?" he gasps silently, "And what is that?"

"That I can't wait to meet her," she says, carefully watching as the lines of his face move, "She obviously is important to you."

His lowers his look on hers and when he moves his lips to speak she brushes him off quickly, "Don't give me that look," she laughs, "You can hide from everyone else on the court and you can hide from yourself, but you very well know that you can't hide from me," she gives him a knowing look, "There's something about that girl and maybe you don't even realize it but I want to see it for myself."

He closes his lips, preventing all of the words he wanted to say from coming out. He looks straight ahead and after few moments on silence he responds, "I'll go get her and meet you in the garden."

One knock.

Two knocks.

Three knocks.

This time she says he's free to come in.

He opens the door and steps in, seeing her standing near a window in the dress they had left for her.

Her hair is falling all the way over her back and the dress is so tight on her, on her breasts and waist and hips and she looks amazing so amazing he thinks his lungs are collapsing because there's no air. He tries to grasp for it.

Her eyes are big and a little tired, she looks like she hasn't gotten enough sleep and he worries she's not comfortable enough but doesn't find the strength to ask. When she notices the look in his eyes she lowers her head a little so he doesn't notice all the blush on her cheeks.

"There's someone I would like you to meet," he says and it catches her attention.

She agrees because it would be rude to refuse and she has been rude enough. She's also curious, she keeps going through all of the possibilities and after some time thinking doesn't come up with a solution.

They walk out and she follows him to the garden until she notices a girl standing near the pond. She's wearing a big green dress covered with yellow silk at some spots, especially in the middle, and it goes perfectly with her white and smooth skin and sunny hair.

"Miss Griffin," Bellamy calls for her and she joyfully walks over to them. She smiles at Raven's presence and Raven smiles back at her. "I would like to introduce you to Miss - " he stops mid sentence when he realises Raven never gave him her last name and calling her by her first name might deepen Clarke's suspicions.

"Reyes," Raven says, smiling at Clarke but giving Bellamy a sideways glance.

Miss Raven Reyes.

"Oh my," Clarke giggles, "You have such a lovely voice," she compliments her and Raven blushes once again. "Doesn't she Bell?" Clarke asks.

Raven's eyes pop out at the free way Miss Griffin is using kings first name, and Bellamy stiffens beside her. When Clarke realizes what she had done, she puts her palm over her lips and giggles silently.

"Did I just call you by your first name in front of someone else?" she asks Bellamy and Raven can see a smirk hiding behind her palm.

"I think you did," Bellamy answers nervously.

"Well, she won't tell anyone, will you dear?" Clarke shifts her look to Bellamy and she shakes her head to confirm she won't tell a living soul.

She knows she shouldn't ask because it's none of her business and she doesn't care she shouldn't care she doesn't want to care but it's stronger than her, "Are the two of you engaged?" she asks briskly.

Both of them burst into laughter and she realizes this is the first time she's hearing him laugh truthfully and she doesn't want him to stop she wants to make him laugh some more.

"He wishes," Clarke says through a laugh, linking her arm with Raven's and leading her down the path. She can hear Bellamy's footsteps behind them and it takes her everything she has not to turn around to cast him a glance. "We're just friends, good friends, we've been friends for as long as both of us can remember," she hums.

Raven decides to push it. "But isn't that a solid foundation for marriage?"

Clarke's throat tightens and it takes her some time to respond, "It is, a very well one," she says seriously, "But it means nothing without the other things that make the package complete."

Her next question she asks curiously, the evidence of it visible in her voice, "Like what?"

Clarke jumps a little, showing her excitement. "Like mystery," she says sweetly, "And passion, even some secrets," she pushes few pebbles off her way with her foot, "Bellamy and me have none of those. Plus, I would never want to be a queen."

"Correction," Bellamy voices himself, "You wouldn't want to be my queen."

"Well, it isn't my fault you're so demanding," she brushes him off.

Raven giggles and Clarke decides she likes her already. She would be good for Bellamy, someone to challenge him.

"Funny how things work out," he says after catching up with them and standing by Raven's side, "Since my father used to think your father wants to marry you into our family."

"Well, with all due respect, your father was an idiot," Clarke huffs.

Bellamy doesn't say anything to defend him and Raven takes that strange.

"If I were Finn, well.."

Clarke growls silently and Raven thinks how it's so not lady like and decides she likes her.

"Let's not dwell on mistakes," she gives Bellamy a warning look before shifting her attention to Raven, "Every woman falls for the wrong man at least once in her life."

"But isn't that what makes love so thrilling?" she directs her question to Clarke.

Clarke and Bellamy share a look and after few moments of silence Clarke responds, "The forbidden aspect? Maybe. Most probably. But there's nothing thrilling about being wrong."

Raven decides she had said enough and that Clarke's words make sense. What was she thinking? How can being wrong ever be enjoyable?

"Do you like the dress I picked out for you?" Clarke decides to change the subject.

Her eyes fly down Raven's body to which she responds, "Oh, yes, thank you very much on your generosity."

Clarke smiles. "If I had seen you before picking out the dress maybe I would be able to pick something more suitable. I didn't even know where to go from. Fortunately, our lord here was able to provide me with enough details about your appearance."

She looks at Raven and notices a huge amount of blush on her face.

"My lord," they hear a child's voice behind them before the topic becomes more awkward.

"Well isn't it my favorite person in the world?" Bellamy says sweetly, crouching down to be at the same height as the child, "Miss Charlotte, what are you doing here?"

"I was taking a walk when I noticed you and my sister doing the same," her big blue eyes, maybe even a little too big for her head, fall on Raven and she shapes her strawberry colored lips in a letter o, "I wasn't aware someone else is in your presence," her blond curls hop on her back as she walks and Raven can see some similarities between her and Clarke, mostly in their posture.

"This is Miss Reyes," Clarke introduces Raven to her sister.

Charlotte smiles widely, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Reyes."

"Likewise," Raven smiles back at her.

Once again Charlotte shifts her interest to Bellamy, "Do you want to come with me to the flower field?"

Bellamy gets on his feet, puts his hand out and Charlotte puts her hand in his and they walk away.

"He's great with children, you know?" Clarke asks as they walk slowly behind Bellamy and Charlotte, "When he goes to town they run up to him with open arms and he greets them eagerly. There's no question, he's going to be an amazing father to his own children."

Raven watches him carefully as he walks down the path with the little girl, her hand still in his. She refuses to think about him as kind and nice and sweet but she can't help but wonder.

"He's trying, he's trying so much," Clarke goes on, "To patch everything his father has ripped apart."

And wondering climbs over the wall and falls on the right side of her mind and she thinks how Bellamy is nothing like his father.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm really sorry for taking so long to update this but I've been so busy lately with college and i honestly forgot about this! Anyway, I got a comment recently so it reminded me and I wrote a few chapters.
> 
> Going to try and add them all today but there are so many mistakes that it might take me a few days. Again, sorry for making you guys wait so long and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

"So tell me," she says cheerfully, because she's feeling happy and she hasn't felt like that in years so she decides to make the best out of it, "How are you planning to make the world a better place?" she asks while walking next to him.

He came to her room and invited her for a walk which she gladly accepted because she was dying of boredom alone in her room, but she felt like she shouldn't complain. The day was wonderful, warm and sunny, it's been a while since they had one of those. There was on wind, only a delightful breeze, and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky.

When they brought her here she felt like that room is her prison. She had better conditions than if she were in an actual prison, but she felt like she was trapped inside of someone else's world. He left her alone there. He was the only person she knew on the court, even though barely, and he left her alone and her skin would itch and her thoughts were loud and she was screaming inside of her head which was falling apart.

But lately all of that changed, she started feeling comfortable in her surroundings. He would spend time with her. Sometimes she thought he spent every second of his free time on her. She met Miss Griffin, someone who was clearly important to him. She started feeling like she belonged there and she wasn't sure that's such a good thing.

Upon asking that question he looks at her, speechless. All of the words leave his mind and never find their way out of his mouth because she's so beautiful so wordlessly unspeakably out of this world beautiful and he gets caught up in her dark skin and big eyes which are looking at him with so much expectation.

He shakes those thoughts out of his head and watches them as they stumble on the path in front of them, whirling in the wind, because he knows those thoughts don't belong to him, they shouldn't belong to him.

"My father wasn't much of a king," he starts talking, looking straight ahead. He wasn't much of a man either, is what he wants to say but never does. "He enjoyed being a king. He loved the power, he loved the freedom to use that power any way he wanted. He thought he's more than a man, he acted like a God," he exhales loudly, making her shiver. "Of course, he loved being king in theory, never in practice. He never cared much, or at all. Sometimes I think he cared only for himself, even though he had his moments when he would care for others as well. Those moments were rare," he clears his throat through a cough, "That being said," he says, indicating that part of the conversation has ended, "Kingdom started deteriorating, year by year. People were living in poverty, they didn't have anything to eat, to wear, there were no jobs. When I was a child I didn't think about those things. I knew the chances of me becoming a king are low."

"How come?" she interrupts him.

"Oh," he says amused by the lack of her knowledge, "My sister was supposed to become queen after our father passed away, but she declined the throne. I'm afraid she inherited some bad traits from our father, but luckily she was aware of those, and she was aware she would be as bad of a queen as our father was king. So that made me king," he lowers his look down.

She ponders on this new fact. Maybe Bellamy becoming a king was destiny. Maybe he was born to rule.

"As I grew older," he continues, "I realized that my fathers actions will destroy the kingdom. I mean, what is a king without a kingdom, and what is a kingdom if there are no people to rule over? Sadly, I wasn't able to do anything, not until I was crowned," he looks up at her and she notices passion in his eyes. He loves being king, but not for the sake of being one. He loves the power because he knows what he can do with it. There's a spark in his eyes as he continues, "People in the city believe the king is untouchable, exactly what my father wanted them to think. He made them think he's a God, and he never showed his face. So I did the opposite," a smile creeps upon his face, "I went down there and at first people were weary, but with time they got used to having me down there. I wanted them to see I'm a man, just like them and that I want to help them and that together we can change things. I helped one man and that man helped another and the circle goes on," he takes his look off of her and looks straight ahead once again, "We're nowhere near done, though, we have so much work to do."

"How exactly do you help them?" she asks curiously, excitement evident in his voice.

"At first I would just talk to them, then I would give food to those who need it the most. Honestly, I was mostly helping them financially, to renew hospitals, open new job positions, but with time.."

"King who is a friend of the people," she says silently like she came up with some new revelation.

Confusion washes over his face. "Excuse me?"

She knits her brows together, trying to remember where did she hear that. "While I was traveling here I heard these two men talking. They were talking about a kingdom which will rise from the ashes and about a king who is more than a king, he is friends with the people," she remembers the conversation clearly, "I thought your father is still ruling the kingdom, so it never even crossed my mind, but.." she looks up at him, her eyes wide and smiling and glittering, "Do you think they were talking about you?"

His cheeks become red and this is the first time she sees him blush. He takes his eyes off of her, "They could have been, I suppose," he answers.

He is so humble and nice and generous and beautiful and she can feel her whole body burning under her dress because she's glad, she's so so so so glad that he's the king. He wasn't there to help her, he couldn't have been. He was so young, too young. No one was there to help her, to stop it, to keep her from losing it all. But he will be there for others. He will be there for some other girl who finds herself in a similar position and he will help her.

Well, maybe he wasn't able to help her then, but he's helping her now.

She looks at him, carefully, with the corner of her eye. She looks at his sandy hair which looks golden under the sun, and those big eyes, and he's so beautiful and she can't stop looking at him or thinking how attractive he is. She bores herself with those thoughts, those shallow and repetitive thoughts, but they won't leave her. He's beautiful in all the ways other men aren't, and he's not only attractive because of his outside features. He's attractive because of the way he talks and how his eyes glimmer with passion when he talks about something he loves and he's attractive because his heart is so big it's basically pouring out of his being into everyone who surrounds him.

And she could use a little bit of heart since hers is beating so weakly.

She caresses him with her look. She can see herself, she imagines herself pulling her fingers through his hair, then down his face, over the bridge of his nose. She wonders how he looks underneath his clothes, are there any scars on his chest or is his skin smooth.

Her metaphorical finger stops on his lips and she wonders what it would be like to kiss them. How do they taste? Feel? Are they smooth as the skin of his face is?

She wants to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him hard and deep and never let go.

She frowns at her thoughts. She can't do that. She won't ever be able to do that.

She thinks how he probably doesn't even want her to do that.

Probably.

She wonders how did they come to this. They were enemies they are enemies they are supposed to be enemies. She wants revenge, she still wants it, she just forgot. It's boiling inside of her veins. It's hard to let go of something you have been thinking about for the last four years of her life. She has nothing else but revenge and the man who was supposed to pay is no longer here. What now?

Bellamy took her off of her intended path, he made her forget why she's actually there. Should she kill the kings son now when she can't kill him?

No, no, no, she thinks to herself. She looks at Bellamy. She can't kill him.

Why, a little voice in her head asks.

Because she likes him.

And she shouldn't like him. She can't like him she doesn't want to like him she wasn't supposed to like him and it could never ever ever work.

But she does. She likes him and he makes her insides burn just by looking at him and hearing him speak and, oh help her God, she wants him.

She wants him in all the ways a woman wants a man and in all the ways she shouldn't want him. The two of them are made out of two completely different cloths.

If he touches her would she caught on flames? Would she burn or would she ravel in the fire of their own making? Would he destroy her or save her? When people think of fire they think of danger, forgetting fire also keeps them warm.

She wonders how much time did they spend in silence and what he's thinking about. Is he thinking about the same thing she is?

Does he like her too?

And just like that she's twelve years old again, sitting in the middle of a meadow, plucking petals of a flower. He likes me. He likes me not.

"If you could only," he says, breaking the silence between them, and clearly struggling with words, "If you could only tell me where your home is, maybe I could take you there."

He wants her to go. He wants to get rid of her. Maybe he doesn't like her after all.

All the petals are gone and the last one was he likes me not.

"Maybe I could help you," he says hardly.

"There's no home," she says with a husky voice.

"Where did you used to live then?"

"Oh," she gasps, "In a small house at the end of the road, on the edge of the city, near the forest. Everything was made out of wood and we had horses and other animals. We were a family. We had friends. The sky was orange and there was a river nearby. It was not so long away from here. It was in this city," she remembers the place where she grew up fondly before she furrows her brows, "That place doesn't exist anymore. If you went there all you would find are ruins, I suppose. I haven't been there in years."

"In this city?" he asks curiously, "Didn't you say you traveled here?"

"Yes," she locks her eyes with his, "I had to run. I had to get away from here."

She says those words with a certain amount of fear in her eyes and he wants to take that fear away.

"Will you ever tell me why did you want to kill my father?"

"Yes," she says firmly, "One day. If I told you now, the game would be over."

He stops walking and looks at her.

"Game?" he asks confused.

She stops walking as well and turns around to face him.

He can't believe she's the same girl he found in rags and mud few weeks ago. There are no words for how beautiful she is.

"Well yes," she says playfully, "All of this is a game for you, isn't it? Me being here. I run," she turns around and starts walking, "And you catch."

He smirks.

He would love to catch her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the story isn't exactly historically accurate (Octavia could of been Queen) and yeh I made some changes (Octavia is older) but this story is completely AU. The characters only share names, looks and some personality traits I guess.
> 
> Anyway, I wanted to get this chapter out fast so if there is way too many mistakes please tell me. I tries to get them all but I probably missed like 85% of them.

"If you don't mind me saying, my lord," she knits her brows together, obviously nervous of what's to come, "But you don't seem very fond of your father," she gasps a little after the sentence escapes her lips.

He looks at her with interest because no one has ever asked him that question. He doesn't think anyone ever wondered.

This morning he brought her several new dresses, the ones Clarke picked out for her. She was right, now when she had seen Raven with her own two eyes she was more successful in picking out dresses that suit her better. He also offered to show her around the castle so she had put one of those dresses on, the one so tight around her waist and bosom that she could barely breathe, but she also knew all of the women on the court endure this and so will she. It's not like she can't handle the feeling of being squeezed, like someone filled her lungs with water then tied them up with rope - she experienced that feeling many times, more than she would like to admit and remember. The dress is green, pale green and there's a muslin the colour of clouds covering the dress. Her arms are bare, she never had her arms bare, always covered with long sleeves or blazers or coats - even her night dress has sleeves. She feels too naked, too exposed, there's too much skin out in the open, even her breasts are visible and she feels like ripping it off of herself even though she knows no one will judge because that's how people dress. Because the parts of skin they decide to show are no longer intimate. And she would, she would have ripped it off if there wasn't for that look on his face. When he had seen her in that dress his lips parted like he wants to say so many things but he never found the right words, and somehow his silence was the best compliment out of them all. Especially when it was followed by the look in his eyes, look full of admiration and need and hunger and want, like he's going to devour her in the gentlest way possible. So she left it on, trying to find a new way to breathe, all because out of some reason she wanted his approval and his eyes on her and she wanted him to think she's beautiful.

She didn't know why and it scared her. The possibilities behind those thoughts and feelings scared her more than anything.

Her mother talked to her about love. Oh, she told her some beautiful stories. She told her love is like sun and moon and stars and a bucket full of happiness all mixed together. It's wonderful and brilliant and an adventure, because one moment it's a straight line, leading your heart to his on a string, and the next it's full of curves you didn't even see coming but you don't get lost because love is a feeling, it's an instinct, and just like blood knows which vein to go through to come to its destination, that's how you know how to move in the labyrinth of love. "Love is a mother, a child, a woman standing on the beginning of forever. Love is a flower and air and all the clouds in the sky. It's magnificent, it's a bag full of gold and diamonds and smiles. Love is a touch, a whisper, a murmur in the crowd. Love is everything you ever wanted," her mother told her. And since then she wanted love desperately and waited for it patiently. She was supposed to have it by now, she wants it, she's ready. She was supposed to fall in love with some boy from the city, he would ask her to dance and he would propose and they would love love love. Maybe love isn't for everyone. Maybe there's not enough love in the world. Or maybe the opposite, maybe there's too much love in the world and people don't know what to do with it. She wants it, she wants a boy and a house and to sew dresses for a living like her mother did and a pocket full of hope and love and light. She is supposed to be out there, not here, and she came to fear this is her labyrinth.

Because her mother also told her that's what love sometimes is. Love is when you fear wanting it. Love can be scary, fearsome, too big for you to handle. It can destroy you, tear you to pieces and then fix you up just so it can do it to you all over again. Love is climbing on a cliff and falling off of it and falling falling falling and sometimes you never hit the ground. As wonderful as love can be, it can also be cruel.

She knows men do not love like women, and that they don't feel the same loyalty women do. Some people love endlessly, gently, selflessly. Some people carry love like a droplet of water on the palm of their hand. And some people love selfishly, their love destroys and ruins and burns and crumbles and you feed off of it until you burn with them. Nevertheless, love is love, and you can't choose the way you get it, and most of the times you can't choose the way you give it because to most it's in them, like the color of their eyes.

However you turn it love is fire, and the only question is will it burn you down or keep you warm.

Her mother never warned her love can be a mix of the two. She never told her you will cry and shiver and that your bones will rattle while you're climbing the stairs to the roof, but once you throw yourself off of it you will feel such relief because love is air and you're surrounded by it and for the first time in your life you can breathe properly. Love is fear and excitement and happiness and loss and despair and flesh wrenching pleasure all mixed into one. It's a bag full of unfulfilled dreams and hope that one day they will come true.

And she was afraid of that feeling because she can feel it creeping towards her, and it's not allowed. She's a poor girl without family and he's the king and the most she can be to him is his whore and she doesn't want that and she thinks he doesn't want that either.

She started caring for him too early, maybe even before she realized, the moment she had seen the pain behind those green eyes because that's the same kind of pain she had seen in hers the last time she had looked into a mirror, years ago.

He wants to make her feel at home and she knows she can't set her roots in this place.

She looks up at him after she notices he still hasn't answered her question and he's looking at her like that again - like she's a goddess.

He can't seem to take his eyes off of her. He tries, he tries so much but he fails terribly. He tries to imagine the rags and the dirt but he can't and he starts to wonder were they ever there or was it all a part of his imagination. His mind playing tricks on him out of some unknown reason. She's far too beautiful too be dressed in rags and covered in dirt, even with the scars on her body he still hasn't mentioned seeing.

Raven, with her long chestnut hair, light in the dark and almost invisible on the daylight. Her hair, falling alongside her face, sometimes covering her rosy cheeks, sometimes a universe away from them. The smooth skin of her face with few scars that started healing - he wants to pull his fingertips alongside it, from her forehead to her toes. He wants to be a drop of water to slide down her skin, he wants to be soap for her skin to absorb him. Her eyes, sometimes so tired, like she lived for a few lifetimes, like she's hiding a soul older than the world itself behind them. And sometimes so full of life like she was born yesterday, like she's only starting to live. She's not too tall and not too small, she's just right.

His look falls on her lips and stays there longer than it should. In the early morning they're red, and in the evening they're pink, sometimes the color of peach. He wonders how they taste like, he wonders how her whole body tastes like.

He looks at her hands and notices a smooth skin there as well and he wonders, if she's been alone for so long, how did she survive without working? How could she possibly have a skin so smooth?

"My father wasn't a very likable man," he finally answers, "Just like he wasn't a very likable king. We never had a relationship, let alone a good one. When he wanted something, he took it," she exhales loudly at his words and he finds it amusing, "No matter what the price was."

She nods and lets the subject go. They continue walking down the empty, half lit corridors.

"Tell me a secret," she says abruptly.

He looks at her with curiosity. "Excuse me?"

"A secret, something no one else knows. Tell me something you want, something you want but are afraid to take, something you never told anyone before."

He glares at her half curiously, half surprised, because only two things come to his mind. He doesn't know how she would react to one, and he doesn't know how he would explain the other.

"You first."

He thinks how this was a very cowardly thing to do. A king, afraid of how a poor girl would react to his words.

She chuckles. "I have too many secrets and I'm afraid you wouldn't like any of them. I would never know which one to choose," she locks her eyes with his but he can barely see her as they walk through the dark part of the corridor. She stays silent until they reach the light again. "Also, if I told you my secrets this easily the game would be over and of what use would I be to you then."

He wants to tell her, he wants to tell her there is no game, not anymore. He doesn't want a mystery, he wants her, she is a mystery enough for him. That is her use. Her wonderful smile and the gentle look in her eyes. The blush on her cheeks and the shyness in the core of her being. Her strength and intelligence and the power to make him laugh. She is herself and that's all of the use she needs.

"I want to kiss you," he dares to say.

A smile fades away from her lips and he regrets his words but it's too late to take them back. He doesn't want to take them back. He's a stone, buried in one place, unable to move. The fire in her eyes goes off and the blush makes a guest appearance on her cheeks.

"My lord," she lowers her look, her voice jumping up and down. He shivers. "There must be something else you want more," she says silently.

"No," he says firmly, but she stays in place, "There is something I want equally."

This time she raises her look out of curiosity.

"Silence," he says, "Out of the two things I want the most there's only one you can provide me with."

Her eyes flare up again. "I can give you silence. I can be silent," her voice never stops jumping, out of fear, out of excitement.

He smiles lightly. "I never said I want silence from you," he puts his thumb under her chin, keeping her head from falling down again, making her look him in the eyes, "You being silent in my presence is the last thing I would want."

"A kiss, then," she says, but something gets stuck in her throat, "Why don't you take it?"

He stops smiling. "I want you to give it to me."

Silence falls over them like darkness and it keeps pressing onto their bodies like a weight neither of them can hold.

"I do not want to take it from you. I want you to want it as much as me that you're willing to kiss me on your own," her eyes study him as he moves his thumb from her chin and pulls it over her lower lip. So soft, so full. "Maybe one day," he pulls his thumb from her lip and steps away from her. He turns around and starts walking in the direction they were headed to.

She captures his wrist with her fingers, making him stop walking and turn to her.

He turns on his heel, her nails digging into his skin, and there's a look of fear mixed with excitement in her eyes. She makes a step towards him and stands before him.

"Maybe now," she whispers.

Before he knows it her lips are on his and she's kissing him and he's kissing her and he forgets who they are or where they're at and that someone might catch them any minute now.

When he remembers he doesn't care.

Because their lips are colliding and she tastes like sunshine.

He puts his hands on her hips, his fingertips gently sinking into her skin through the fabric of her dress, and they stagger back. Her back presses against a stone cold wall and he falls on her.

And all Hell breaks loose.

Demons and angels start a war between their lips. There's ice in their hearts and fire to melt it. The universe falls above their heads, all planets circling around them like they're cheering for them. Stardust gets in their throats but they do not choke. The stars disappear in their eyes and sun stops burning and moon stops shinning to protect them in the darkness, far away from eyes and minds and mouths that could harm them.

Her hands rest on his hips, her fingertips slowly traveling up and down, but never too much. She's too frozen to move. She lives and sees and feels with her lips while the rest of her is frozen.

Evangelic zeal fills her within and she finds herself at peace.

They part their lips only for a second to fill their lungs with air.

She breathes cold air into his lungs, making him shiver from within, and plants herself inside of his body. She's inside, inside of his heart and mind and soul and she's never seen a kingdom more beautiful than the one inside of him. She's so small, unimportant, and he's so big, important, but none of that matters because now she's his equal.

She plants her seeds in his body and they start growing in his heels. Like a tree she starts spreading through his body, her branches surrounding his rib cage, protecting his heart.

She grows and inside of him she builds herself a home.

He's a little bit more daring than her.

He moves his hands from her hips which he has been fondling gently. His fingertips brush over her bosom, making both of them gasp, and find themselves on her bare arms. He slowly travels upwards until he reaches her shoulders, then plays with her collar bones. He turns them into dust and she feels weak.

He cups her face and caresses her cheeks with his thumbs.

He knows her now. He knows some of the curves on her body. She's no longer an unknown road he would get lost at, she's a tunnel which has a light at the end of it.

Love is fire which makes you burn and water to make you cold. Love is pleasant heath and prickling ice. Love is war and destruction and loss and tears. Love is salvation and smiles.

Love has no form or taste or smell. Love is not human because humans are wrong. Love is never wrong.

Love is an orphan, it has no home until you give it. Love is a beggar for attention. Love is a king and a queen and an ordinary person.

Love is when you laugh out of pain, and hurt because of too much laughter. Love is tears which burn your skin like acid and smile that makes the corners of your lips crack.

Love hunts you and you hunt it without knowing its face and it tackles you as soon as you turn your back. Because you're not allowed to look love in the eyes.

Love is patience.

Love is a mystery.

Love is everything.

Love is life.

He detaches his lips from hers, but not himself in entirety. His body is still pressed next to hers, and their hearts are beating to the same rhythm, like they're singing a song. His lips are lingering above hers, gently scraping against the surface every once in a while.

"You taste like.." he can't find the right words and she gasps, "When I kiss you, I have a feeling I'm swallowing a heartbeat."

She smiles a most delicious smile as his lips press on hers. Faint lightning falls over them as their faces keep touching. They are not in a middle of lustful kiss like they were a moment before, no, it's like they're trying to learn each other bodies by memory.

Every curve, every hidden corner, every line on the skin, but both of them know it will take much more than a stolen kiss in dark to memorize those things.

Murmur and footsteps not so far away disrupt their moment and they jump away from each other, trying to act as natural as possible.

"My, my," Octavia's voice echoes in the corridor as she and Finn come to stand before them, "Look what we have here," she smirks.

Finn smiles enthusiastically.

"Octavia," Bellamy says with a voice full of warning, "This is Miss Reyes."

"We meet at last," Octavia nods gracefully in Raven's direction.

She smiles politely while studying Octavia. She's beautiful. The lines of her face are too hard, strict, whilst Bellamy's are friendly, gentle. Her hair is darker than the coal itself and her eyes so blue that they're almost frightening in its intensity.

"And this is Mister Collins," he points towards the man standing next to Octavia.

He seems to be Stefan's age while Octavia seems to be older than them both. They have the same hair colour, Raven notices, because she has no idea what to focus on. His skin seems so smooth and so white, like snow, and his eyes are two big, brown marbles.

"I'm so glad I finally got to meet you," Finn says happily,

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well," Raven answers shyly and Finn stays at Octavia's side.

"I've been showing Miss Reyes around the castle," Bellamy smiles nervously, "We better continue," he starts walking and Raven follows him.

As they disappear behind the corner Octavia smirks, "That girl will destroy him in all the ways he will not be able to fix."

Finn furrows his brows. "Don't you think our lord knows better than to fall for someone he's not allowed to?"

Octavia stays quiet for some time, staring in the direction they went before turning her attention to Finn, "Dear Mister Collins, you have so much more to learn about my brother."


End file.
